


Grace, Grace, Grace

by Akumeoi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Dean Winchester, Castiel Has Rainbow Wings (Supernatural), Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Flying, Getting Together, Grieving Sam Winchester, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Rescue, Suicidal Thoughts, The Empty (Supernatural), no beta we go to super hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28391046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/Akumeoi
Summary: Dean goes to heaven, but Castiel is still in the Empty. Jack has a proposition that will make Dean the ultimate master of everyone's fate, and what's broken will be fixed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	Grace, Grace, Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays! My gift to you all is this fic. 
> 
> Shout out to the SPN gang on the No. 6 Discord, especially Crow, Mintbun, and Emerald, for patiently answering my questions about SPN minutia. Also shout out to anyone who's ever updated the wiki or uploaded an SPN video to youtube. Those things were a big help to me as I was writing this fic.

  1. _Dean_



When Dean arrives in heaven, his first thought is, “Son of a bitch.”

Going out on a rusty nail like that, huh? And leaving Sam alone for what, up to 70 years of his life? Real class act, Winchester.

And yet.

An ache grips his heart, not a passing rueful regret, but true guilt and hurt.

As hard as he tried for Sam, a part of him has been residing in oblivion for some time now. In life, he found himself every day flinching away from thinking about it while simultaneously being obsessed by it. By the absence. By _him_.

Dean starts with a scowl, cuts himself off and turns his attention to the scenery. Trees, grass, road, and the impression of distant, sunset mountains. As he stands there, he begins to calm. Heaven is vast, but in a way that feels freeing rather than overwhelming. Safety and peace seem to be baked into the very air.

He sees the Roadhouse nearby, yet there are no other people around. It’s a bit strange. When one arrives at a Roadhouse, one expects clientele. But in a way, he’s glad. He’s not sure he can live that rusty nail thing down, although other hunters have died in equally senseless ways. He’ll have to find a way to spin it. If he were a coward, he would say he’d saved his brother.

As he’s contemplating going into the Roadhouse to see if it’s as empt– vacant as it looks, he senses a presence beside him in the corner of his eye, and turns.

There’s Jack. Jack, who is God now, apparently. There’s just enough difference in him from when he _wasn’t_ God for it to be unsettling – mainly in the perpetual serene expression – but Dean doesn’t care.

“Hey, kid,” he says, opening his arms. Jack doesn’t move away, his posture remaining open. That’s enough invitation for Dean to lean in and give him a hug, which Jack accepts.

“Nice place you got here,” Dean says, giving Jack a pat on the back and stepping away.

“Yes, I made a few changes. There are no more walls, no more reliving memories forever. Bobby, your parents, the Harvelles, everyone... they’re all here for you.”

Jack’s tone is more matter-of-fact than prideful, but there is joy. Dean gets the sense that part of Jack’s motivation for making everything right was specifically to bring his family back to him. That gets him right in the heart. Even as an enigmatic God who didn’t see fit to live in the Bunker with him, Jack still cares about him.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “And you’re part of this family reunion, I take it?”

“Yes and no.” Jack smiles enigmatically. “I need your help.”

Doesn’t everybody. Jack is a special case, of course. But it’s good to know he’s still good for something even after the great nail life failure of 2020.

“Yeah?”

“How would you feel about becoming an angel? I need some replacements. As much as I want to stay hands off, heaven won’t run itself.”

Dean’s stomach lurches. _You can’t replace Cas_ , he wants to say. Instead, he swallows. “Yeah, I know, they’re kindof an endangered species.”

Jack nods. He looks completely nonchalant about this whole “turning Dean into an angel” thing and it’s throwing Dean off a bit. Must be the security of omniscience.

“Can I see Sam?” Dean asks bluntly.

“Time works differently here. You’ll see him soon no matter what you decide,” Jack says, but Dean recoils at that thought. Sam was always the one with so much in his future to live for, whether it be his old dream of becoming a lawyer or a simpler yearning for a life with a lover like Eileen. Dying isn’t so bad now that heaven is an option, but Dean can’t help but wish it _won’t_ be a blink of an eye for him until Sam dies. That would just seem wrong, somehow.

“I need you to understand this is a long term commitment,” Jack says seriously. “Once it’s done, I can’t undo it. Your body will be expansive beyond your understanding. You won’t need to eat, sleep, or even breathe. If you _do_ eat, you’ll taste every molecule. If you do sleep, your dreams won’t always be your own. Think about it.”

Jack’s little speech has zero effect on Dean whatsoever, since he’s seen Cas eat, sleep, and breathe all the time, _and_ enjoy all of it.

 _Cas_.

Setting aside Sam for a minute, Dean bites his lip, mind churning. There’s really only one other thing he wants to know before he makes up his mind. He takes a breath.

“Can I – can I save Cas? Can I get him out of the Empty?”

Jack smiles, and for the first time it’s broad and a little bit human, no mystery to it at all. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Dean folds his arms, tilting his head as if daring Jack to retract the offer.

He doesn’t. “I’ll negotiate a bit with the Shadow. I’d like Heaven to be on good terms with the Empty, and I have a feeling it will be eager to be rid of all Winchesters, if nothing else.”

Dean laughs, fully conscious that his family has been a thorn in the side of all evil for most of his 41 years. And proud of it.

“After that, I’ll get a portal open for you. Could you raise a few more angels for me before you pick up Cas?”

Gabriel. Gadreel. Anna. Metatron. Balthazar. All of them are bastards in their own ways, but some of them could be good to have around. The ones who don’t have dangerous personal agendas, who died because they tried to do good but fucked it up somehow.

“Yeah, I can think of a couple,” Dean agrees.

Jack’s lingering smile vanishes, and he’s suddenly all business again. “Then let’s go.”

  1. _Sam_



Sam’s minding his own business at the Bunker, staring at the names carved into the table and trying to convince himself to not indulge the urge to drown himself in alcohol for the third night in a row. That’s supposed to be Dean’s coping thing, he tries to tell himself, even though he’ll admit he’s been there before too.

Tears gather in his eyes at the thought of Dean. They were supposed to be able to write the rest of their lives together. But Dean went and _left_ him. It hurts so bad. God, (Jack), why? Why?

Sam wipes his face on his shoulder and lifts the bottle to his lips. But before he can drink, he shoots up in shock as he hears the front door opening behind him.

Everyone who had a key to the Bunker aside from Sam is gone. And he hasn’t actually drunk anything yet, so it can’t be an illusion.

 _Shit,_ Sam thinks, remembering that the Bunker’s wards are down. With most of the angels and demons dead it had seemed the practical thing to do, but now he deeply regrets it. Cautiously, he reaches for his demon-killing blade and approaches the Crow’s Nest, ready to defend the Bunker if need be.

On the balcony in front of the open doorway, looking down at him is a familiar silhouette. The knife slips out of his hand and onto the floor with a clatter, and Sam gives a shaky laugh.

Dean. Of course, it’s Dean. If Sam’s eyes don’t deceive him, Dean looks like he’s got some kind of supernatural botox going on – looks younger, that is. Probably means he’s some kind of monstrous imposter. Either that or Jack is a huge dipshit who brought Dean back to life in a brand new body while completely failing to warn Sam not to bother paying for funeral expenses.

If it’s option A? Sam doesn’t give a fuck. He knows there’s no way, now, that he could even try and kill anything that wears his brother’s face.

Dean starts down the stairs towards him.

“Sam?”

Well, it sounds like Dean. Sam, still laughing, backs away from Dean into the library so that he can grab the bottle from the table behind him and takes a drink.

“What do you want, you bastard?” he says roughly as Dean stops in the doorway before him.

He is _angry_ , he realises. It burns, bitter and caustic through his veins. Whatever the hell this is, he doesn’t have the patience for it. He helped kill Chuck/God, and some reward he’s getting for it. This isn’t part of the story he wanted to write, dammit.

“It’s really me,” Dean says, holding up his hands defensively, old song and dance that started with a trickster and a never-ending Tuesday and is somehow concluding with this.

“The ghost who couldn’t go home – where did we find her?” The hint was vague, but this was a hunt the real Dean would never be able to forget. It was Sam’s first hunt after going to Stanford, their first attempt to find their missing dad.

Dean looks confused for a moment. “You mean the La Llorona?”

Sam nods. Alright, so Dean passed step 1.

“Off Centennial Highway. Near Jericho. California,” Dean says, answering the original question.

“And where’d we go after that?” Sam says, deliberately leaving out questions about just what motivated him to go with Dean instead of staying at Stanford.

“Blackwater Ridge, Colorado. Even though you drove my car into a house. Cut it out, Sam. Next thing you’re going to ask me how to replace the oil seals on a ’67 Chevy Impala.”

Well, there’s a 75% chance it really is Dean. On that chance, Sam says, “Okay, then. Fuck you.”

Dean just sighs, miserable and taking it. “I’m real sorry, Sammy. I get why you’re mad. I shouldn’t have abandoned you like I did. I should’ve – I should’ve been strong enough to stay with you.”

Only Dean would say something as stupid as that. It isn’t like an ordinary human’s kidney can just be “strong enough” to withstand a solid iron nail.

 _He_ should’ve _tried harder,_ Sam’s inner thoughts whisper. _You know he could’ve avoided it. You know he didn’t want to stay after Cas got taken._

Tears once again threaten, but Sam blinks them back and says in a rough voice, “You’re an asshole. Jack is an asshole. You let me think you were fucking dead, _again_ , when everything was finally supposed to be okay. How could you? _Ass_!”

Dean inhales. “Sam...” he says carefully. “I’m kinda still dead.”

Sam and his heart freeze solid simultaneously. “What.” He pauses. “Do I have to exorcise you?”

“No, nothing like that. Uh... you’re not gonna believe this, but Jack gave me an upgrade, I guess you could say.”

“An upgrade,” Sam says, the strategist in his brain trying to come up with substances that could kill whatever abomination Dean has probably turned into, even though the rest of him just wants to keel over.

“Yeah, uh... don’t freak out,” Dean says, in a tone that makes Sam think he definitely should be freaking out. Instead, he just breathes, watching Dean to see what will unfold, his hand casually reaching for the knife that’s behind him on the table.

As his hand closes over the handle, the lights go out, the lightbulbs popping in synchronised cascades of glass. Sam can only stare as he feels his brother’s presence seem to physically fill the room. He can tell it really is Dean by the way it makes him feel, by the scent of it – old leather, like the inside of the Impala, apple pie, like shared joy, _home_. Sam can’t help but relax, even as he anticipates what will happen next.

Light fills the room for an instant. Behind Dean, Sam sees a black shadow on the wall.

A shadow of wings.

 _No way,_ Sam thinks as his mouth drops open. _No way is this happening._

He simply stares as between flashes of light, Dean’s shadow-wings fully expand, giving just a hint of their true presence and being. Sam’s heart is beating so hard in his ears that he can’t tell if the sound is coming from within him or without him.

The lights go out fully, the shadow disappears.

“You’re an angel,” Sam breathes in the dark. He flips on the light on the table, which had mercifully been off at the time Dean pulled his little bulb exploding stunt.

“Damn right,” says Dean, looking proud of himself. “And I didn’t burn the house down just now, either.”

“What?” Sam’s eyes narrow.

Dean winces. “Been doing this for less than 24 hours. Brain still hasn’t finished processing all the new stuff that’s been crammed in it. I don’t know how to taste a molecule yet, let alone time travel or whatever. Don’t ask how I got here. Flying’s the one thing I got figured out and I hate it.”

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. Now that he’s felt Dean’s presence, knows it’s really him, and understands what’s going on, he feels much less tense, but he doesn’t know what else to feel. Like Dean, he definitely isn’t done processing yet. He sheathes his knife.

“So – you’re back now,” Sam says. “Do you have like, angel duties?”

Dean smiles, looking proud of himself. “I sure do. I’m gonna be your guardian. For you and your family or whoever.”

It feels right to hear those words. Dean’s been Sam’s guardian angel all his life already, but Sam doesn’t say that. Instead, he smiles fondly.

“I bet you’ll suck at it. You’re just gonna hang out at the Bunker and work on your car all the time.”

“I will not. You’re the one who’s gonna suck at being guarded. Probably go looking for trouble and make my life harder on purpose.” Dean folds his arms, but they both know Sam’s objection and Dean’s offense is playful.

“Right, right. You deserve it for dying on me.” Sam raises an eyebrow. “So, you’re gonna stick around?”

For the first time since he got there, Dean looks uneasy. Sam’s stomach lurches.

“I need to do one thing. Just one thing, first. Then I’ll be back forever, Sammy, I swear.”

“One thing?” Sam folds his arms.

“Yeah. I’m gonna go after Cas.” Dean looks closed off, determined. “Just wanted to check in before I head off to the Empty.”

The Empty is the place where angels go to die. Dean is an angel now. _Are you nuts?_ Sam wants to scream. _Are you_ trying _to abandon me?_ But when he opens his mouth, he finds he can’t say a single thing against it. Dean _needs_ this. He needs Cas like he used to need breath in his damn lungs. Sam would’ve already gone after the angel himself if he were able, and maybe then Dean wouldn’t be standing here with invisible barn doors taped to his shoulders and enhanced glass-breaking abilities.

Sam lets out a breath. “Fine,” he says. Clears his throat, dropping his gaze. “Be safe.”

To his surprise, Dean steps forward and hugs him. Sam holds him tightly, breathes in deep and is reassured to find that Dean’s body still smells the same as it did before. Closing his eyes, Sam lets himself believe that Dean will always be there for him, that it’s okay to feel safe, just for a moment.

“Take care,” Dean says as he lets Sam go. “See you soon.”

With that, he looks towards the ceiling, tenses his legs as if he’s about to jump, pushes upward and vanishes in a streak of white light. The bulb in the lamp on the desk behind Sam explodes, plunging him into darkness again.

“Son of a bitch.”

With a sigh, Sam resigns himself to spending part of his evening changing all the lightbulbs. If only he could angel-proof the damn things. He uses the light on his phone to get himself out of the room and into the supplies.

After he’s come back and changed the bulb on the table, he sees his abandoned beer bottle and takes a little sip. This time when it goes down, it feels light on the spirit, easing him into his relief.

There will be no more mourning here, tonight. The worry can wait until tomorrow.

  1. _Castiel_



Castiel dreams empty dreams.

His biggest regret: not giving Dean the world. He’d left him so broken and lost, and Castiel isn’t naïve enough to think one love confession could heal all the scars and wounds in Dean’s expansive heart. If only he could have stayed, he would have done more, tried harder, been more eloquent...

So really, his biggest regret is dying. And his dreams are of that moment, and of Dean alone afterwards. Dean, alone at his next birthday. Alone in his old age. Alone in heaven. Never getting the life he deserves.

And Castiel. Castiel never got the life he wanted with Dean, either. Even if it was okay to not have it, now that he’s dreaming of regrets his small ones have spawned great ones, and the great ones are compounding each other.

He is in the Bunker, stock still under an onslaught of pounding at the door, every knock an inexorable strike that shatters the silence and shakes his bones in his skin. He feels locked in his body, a puppet forced to repeat the same tired lines, even as his whole being is clamouring, _screaming_ to say something more, something better. _I love you._ Is this all there is? He is forced to raise a hand to Dean and push him to the floor. Castiel’s eyes are screaming, but Dean can’t see his face. Darkness reaches out to possess Castiel and his screams prepare to break out through his lips –

_Castiel!_

His name?

_Castiel!_

Someone is calling him!

_Castiel, by the grace of God, I raise you!_

Eyes – open – light – streaming down white – pain – radiating – joy – love – a hand on his body – in his being – warmth – blackness – pushed back like a curtain – a song – a voice – a face – grace, grace, grace – _Dean_ –

The pieces snap together. Castiel sees: the liquid black stillness of the Empty has been cut through by a blinding ray of light. Bending over him is Dean, skin glowing and with light catching in his golden hair, his feathered eyelashes, his bright green eyes. He looks younger now, unburdened by the ravages of time. Grace, grace is pouring into Castiel where their bodies meet.

And that place is also where the pain is coming from, Dean’s hand on Castiel’s arm – no, shoulder. Castiel laughs, because he knows without looking what’s happened. He lifts his own arm and grips Dean’s shoulder, surprised to feel through layers of cloth and leather that Dean is already wearing Castiel’s own handprint once more. Who did that to him? Was it Dean’s choice?

But the being that is Dean now extends far beyond his vessel. Castiel’s breath catches, his whole form stills, to see how Dean is greater than he’s ever been before. An angel, like him. _Never in Castiel’s wildest dreams_. Although it’s just barely formed, its many eyes mostly closed or blinking dewily like a new kitten’s eyes, Dean’s true form is brilliant. The way it’s unshaped and spilling out from the edges of Dean’s human-apparent form is beautiful in its unintended intimacy. Castiel wants to sing hymns in Enochian to him. He can literally _feel_ Dean surrounding him, leaving no room for the fear that this is another dream.

Castiel is being raised.

He truly thought he’d never see Dean again. He has to have used up all of his God-given chances at living by now. There is no reason he should be worthy of another. And yet, here he is, seeing Dean like it’s for the first time. And Dean is seeing Castiel’s true form for the first time through angel eyes, too.

“Dean, you’re here,” Castiel exclaims, delight and wonder filling his voice. Dean pulls, and Castiel stands as if he’s falling up towards Dean, snapping back into his gravitational orbit. Neither Castiel nor Dean break their hold on each other’s shoulders.

“How?” Castiel says. Dean is looking at him with mingled trepidation, relief, and joy. Matching relief comes in its turn to colour Castiel’s emotions because he thinks that despite what he did or didn’t say to Dean the last time he saw him... they might just be okay.

“Jack told me to come down here and repopulate the angels by raising some of the dead ones. Already picked the others up. Oh, yeah. Jack’s God now, by the way. Chuck’s dead. Everything’s fixed.”

“You did it,” Castiel says breathlessly, his grip on Dean’s shoulder tightening for just a moment.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Dean says, smile easy. “Wanna blow this joint before the Shadow flips its shit?”

Castiel’s heart is bursting and his mouth is full of questions, but he trusts in Dean and simply says, “Yes.”

Dean’s wings begin to open. To Castiel, who can see them as more than just shadows, they’re jet black shot through with neat streaks of silver. _Like the trim on the Impala,_ Castiel thinks absurdly. Still holding on to Dean, he opens his own wings.

“Wow,” Dean breathes, seeing for the first time that Castiel’s wings are not simply black. They are rippling, silken rainbows, rich and glorious like light through stained glass; and as a seraph he is haloed by great fans of colour from multiple pairs of wings.

“Yours are gorgeous,” Castiel murmurs, resisting the urge to bite back the words. _Too much?_

Dean coughs. “Yeah, well, I’m not too good at using ‘em yet, so mind your face.” He looks a bit nervous as he speaks.

It’s impossible to explain exactly how angel flight works without a competent understanding of magic and/or a firm grasp on as-yet unimagined physics. It’s difficult enough to learn without being afraid of it. Castiel wonders if it cost Dean anything to get here.

“I’ll help you,” he promises. “On my mark.”

“Okay.” Dean tightens his grip on Castiel’s shoulder, raising his free hand to grip Castiel’s waist. Castiel mirrors him.

“Go.”

The forms they wear like the paper over the lantern-flames of their beings fold away and vanish, and the two of them become motion, beams of grace twining and entwining as they shoot up into the air. Beneath them, the portal to the Empty closes, leaving them climbing up through a well of darkness, where the walls blur to a white so bright it reflects the mingled rainbows and blackness of Dean and Castiel’s wings, pearlescent

In human terms, flying is like speeding down the highway in a convertible with the wind in Castiel’s hair, like running a mile in a minute with breath enough to make it feel like he could run forever.

Yet all of Castiel’s attention is focussed on Dean, who he’s supporting as fully as if he were carrying him in his arms. This close, it’s easy for Castiel to feel what Dean is feeling: a combination of mingled fear-discomfort-anxiety.

Yet as they fly higher, that discomfort starts to the fade, leaving curiosity in its wake. They leave the Empty, passing back through different planes of existence, and Dean (metaphorically) flaps his wings and starts making timid leaps into the air. His energy changes to reflect interest-daring-wonder. He starts to tug Castiel upwards, so Castiel increases his speed.

As they burst out into the mortal plane, Dean fully slips Castiel’s grasp. Castiel chases him, feeling himself vibrate with an expression of what would be laughter in his human form. The two circle around each other, Castiel encouraging Dean by rushing after him and then darting away, not far enough to leave him feeling abandoned, but far enough to make himself fun to chase.

Their flight slows as Dean concentrates more on precision and following Castiel where he goes than simply moving through the planes. The Earth is laid out below them, a blur of brown, green, and grey, while above them stretches the vast blue sky. Together they dart and flit and dance through that sky, and flying feels more like _flying_ than it ever has before.

  1. _Dean_



A good deal of ill-advised fooling around later, they end up sitting on a cloud, something Dean’s physics teachers had always assured him was impossible. His angel ass doesn’t seem to care. The cloud is soft, like the world’s most comfortable memory foam mattress, with a unique, fresh, cool scent to it.

Cas is sitting beside him and their feet are dangling off into space. The sun is beginning to set, sending rays of orange and pink across the horizon and the earth below them. There, the ground is just a hazy blur, God knows how many miles down, and yet Dean isn’t scared.

“Didn’t know flying could be that much fun,” Dean admits.

“Truthfully, me neither. I saw it solely as a way of getting places, but I’m revising that position,” Cas says, and Dean smiles. He sees Cas’s hands lying loosely in his lap and is struck by the sudden urge to reach out to him. Instead, he looks away.

A wind gusts past them, ruffling their hair, and the sun sinks ever farther, red, orange, and yellow like fire.

“Thank you for coming for me,” Cas says after a while. There’s emotion in his voice, like he thought Dean _wouldn’t_ come (idiot), like he’s grateful. Like maybe there’s about to be a repeat of that moment in the Bunker before... _before_. God, Dean hopes so, but he doesn’t know how to make it happen.

“Of course. Like there was another option,” Dean says with a shrug. He hesitates, then winks. “The other angels I raised were just collateral.”

Cas gives a slight smile. There is a pause. “What will you do now?” Cas asks.

“Go back to the Bunker. I promised Sam I’d be his guardian angel. And Jack said monster hunting was okay as long as there are no human witnesses to any angel smiting,” Dean explains, wondering where this is going.

“I suppose I should come too?” Cas’s voice is tentative as he shoots a glance at Dean and then looks away.

“Yeah, of course,” Dean says strongly, fists clenching at the thought of Cas failing to stay with him. _Stay, stay, stay._ “You know we’re family. The Bunker is your home.”

Still tentative, Cas asks, “So things should go back to normal now?”

Dean takes a breath, feeling like he’s been hit by a sledgehammer. His fists tighten further, but he remains blank-faced and neutral-voiced when he says, “Okay.”

Cas must have noticed that something’s wrong, because he says carefully, “You don’t want them to?”

“Is what you said when you said – you know – true?” Dean asks, hoping the ache isn’t obvious in his voice.

Cas smiles, and when Dean looks at him he sees the same love he saw when Cas confessed to him shining out of Cas’s face, making him more radiant than his grace ever could. Tenderly – there’s no other way to describe it – Cas says, “Every single word.”

Confused, Dean says, “Then why in the hell would I want things to be normal?”

Now it’s Cas’s turn to look confused. He draws back, appearing to think for a moment with a slight furrow on his brow. Finally, he says, “What _do_ you want, Dean?”

“I dunno,” Dean says, gaze dropping. Cas waits patiently for him, so he tries. He _has_ to try. The risk of losing Cas in silence is simply too great to bear. “I’m not too good with feelings, or talking about them, like you are...” Dean glances up at Cas, sees the compassion on his attentive face, and has to look away. He swallows.

“All those things you said about me being good and whatever, I dunno if they’re true. But I do know that _you’re_ good.” Now the words are tumbling out uncontrollably. “I know the reason I took this angel gig is ‘cause I couldn’t stand life, let alone a damn eternal afterlife if it didn’t have you in it. I know... we both know I’ve never been with anyone like... like you, like, you know, a _guy_.” Dean’s face flushes.

“So.” He coughs. “If you’re game to teach an old dog new tricks, then go –” Dean cuts off an understated _go out with me_ and continues more strongly, “ _be_ with me, Cas.”

Dean is startled when Cas reaches out, grabs the back of his neck, and pulls Dean towards him until their foreheads are pressed together. Dean’s eyes search Cas’s face and find only love. Cas closes his eyes, breathing hard as he pushes back his tears, and so Dean closes his eyes and tries to lean into Cas’s warmth without fear. His heart is pounding and he thinks there might be a tear in his own eye, too, but if anyone asks it never happened.

Finally, Cas is able to speak. Lowly, he says, “And I have never loved a once-human in this manner before, so you will have to teach me too.”

Dean’s eyes open, and he winks. “Well you see, there’s this thing humans call kissing,” he starts, and Cas immediately cuts him off with a laugh. Moving his hand to cup Dean’s chin, Cas tilts Dean’s mouth towards his as Dean leans in.

Finally, finally they kiss. After long years, after hard times, after joy, after tragedy. After so much death, repeated ultimate loss, the death of God as they knew him, after happiness bound itself to destruction; _finally_ , there is only softness: Cas’s lips moving gently over Dean’s.

Dean loves him. He loves Cas, he loves Cas, he loves him. His taste, his smell, his being, his essence. He opens his mouth and lets Cas in, dances with him again. As the two melt into each other Dean becomes vaguely aware that their wings are streaming out behind them. There are rainbow lights in the sky, beautiful and vivid against the blackness of night, streaming out amongst the stars. He dismisses the sight, believing he’s seeing Cas’s wings surrounding them.

And yet, far below on Earth, strangers look up into the sky and see beautiful rivers of light dancing over the Kansas night. An aurora borealis in the wrong latitude, a once-in-a-lifetime sight that is captured on phones and cameras and videos and the news, baffling scientists and civilians alike.

No one could ever guess that it’s the joy of two angels, made tangible in the sky.

  1. _Sam_



Letting himself into the Bunker, Sam immediately notices some things have been changed since he left that morning, and knows he has a visitor. There are some doors open where they should be closed and vice versa, and some suspicious crumbs and moved items in the kitchen. He left the wards off for Dean, but of course, it could be anything that’s gotten through them. Sam tenses, fearing a supernatural intruder while at the same time hoping against hope that Dean has come safely home.

The door to Dean’s room is cracked open. Stealth mode engaged, Sam peeks inside to see his errant, dead, angelic (hardly) brother, sitting on the bed and watching TV. Immediately, Sam feels like all the breath has returned to his body at once. _Dean is back. Dean is safe._

And more than that: Castiel is sitting beside him, looking newly youthful and at ease. So Dean’s mission was successful. Despite himself, Sam can’t help but feel warm and misty that his little family is whole once more.

While Sam is thinking this, Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s temple. Sam starts, not because he didn’t know that Castiel loves Dean (it was obvious for years, the poor guy is totally transparent) but because Dean allowed it.

 _So that’s new_.

The obvious response is to tease the shit out of Dean for acquiring a boyfriend in hell, of course.

As Sam is contemplating his opening quip, Castiel looks up and catches sight of him peeking in the doorway. He winks, then wraps an arm around Dean. Dean actually leans into Castiel’s side and lays his head on his shoulder. Sam’s eyes almost pop out of his head.

Although making pretend gagging noises is a tempting option, Sam can’t bring himself to do it now. Dean just died and came back and went to the Empty and came back again. Sam can’t begrudge him the peace of the moment – and does he detect a cheerful twinkle of protective murderous instinct in Castiel’s eye?

Yeah, that’s definitely the reason Sam’s feet are leading him to quietly tiptoe to his own bedroom instead of his mouth letting loose a string of devastating banter.

Sam will postpone being a little shit to his brother and his future brother-in-law angel just for a little while – just until tomorrow.

A tomorrow which now exists in vibrant, rainbow technicolour glory.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Prior to November of this year, I hadn't watched Supernatural since before Castiel existed. I did my best to make everything canon accurate and in character, but it IS an AU, so... 
> 
> Comments always welcome!


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